


And I Will Sleep in Peace Until You Come To Me

by sunlightsmarrow



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Sheriarty - Freeform, johniarty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-26
Updated: 2012-12-26
Packaged: 2017-11-22 13:39:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/610417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunlightsmarrow/pseuds/sunlightsmarrow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Jim is feeling especially malicious toward Sherlock.  This time, he makes him watch.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And I Will Sleep in Peace Until You Come To Me

**Author's Note:**

> Title comes from Danny Boy. Be warned that this will, for some people, rip out what you feel and throw it on the ground and put it back again or something to that effect. Basically, think Richen+SPN feels.

Sherlock's eyes slowly opened and he tried to blink through the haze that surrounded him. Drug induced, most definitely. 

"Sherlock," came a hoarse whisper. Sherlock snapped his head to his right and found John beaten badly, bleeding and bruised on the ground beside him. John held his arms to his chest and rocked slowly. "Is he here? Where is he, Sherlock, I can't see much." A strangled sob escaped from his throat and Sherlock was suddenly all attention. He sat up abruptly and searched around frantically. 

"Who, John? Who are you looking for?"

"Moriarty. Don't you remember?"

"Yes, of course I remember," Sherlock snapped. "I thought you were referring to his thug, the man that did that to you."

"It wasn't a thug, Sherlock." John coughed miserably and Sherlock stared at him as if he were on fire in front of him. There was blood on the doctor's hands that had come from his mouth. Sherlock flinched and tried to reach him, but his drugged stupor and the distance from him to John was too much. He couldn't move, and he realized that he was tied up. 

John seemed pale and Sherlock realized that the blonde wasn't wearing a shirt. He had red welts and finger-sized marks on his hips. "John, what's happened to you."

John let out an agonizing cry and rolled onto his back. Tears pricked at his eye and blood dripped from the corner of his mouth. 

"You're awake," purred a high-pitched, Irish voice. "How are you feeling, Johnny? Sherlock?"

Sherlock said nothing and tried to focus on the man in the suit before him. He was crouching next to John and running his hands over the red welts and scabs that encompassed his chest like a malicious map of sin. "Up for round one, Johnny?"

"No, please!" John panted. His chest heaved and Moriarty scratched against his chest, cutting him open and letting his blood flow onto the already blood-stained floor. 

"Jim, stop this," huffed Sherlock. The drugs were making it hard to concentrate. The consulting criminal trained his attention on the detective. 

"Now, I don't think I can do that, Sherlock," he purred. "Remember our deal? You move, you make a noise, and I kill your lovely little pet. Now, hush, dear." Jim pressed his lips to Sherlock's and Sherlock gagged violently. 

"No, Sherlock, help!" John screamed and reached out for his friend. Sherlock stared at him in agony as Jim dragged him to the middle of the room and drew him up to his knees. All too quickly, Jim pulled out his semi-flaccid cock and forced John's mouth over it. The weight and friction against the back of his throat inspired tears in the doctor's eyes. Jim moaned appreciatively and gave Sherlock a devilish grin. He dipped his head back and groaned loudly in pleasure. He brought John's lips to his and bit his bottom lip, drawing blood. John's eyes flew to Sherlock and pleaded the detective to do something, but Sherlock was rooted to the spot. 

Jim slapped John and he fell to the floor on his hands and knees. Jim stroked himself, bringing himself to total hardness and Sherlock watched as Jim's cock twitched with the half-naked doctor's panting body in front of him. 

"Moriarty," hissed John as the psychopath ripped off John's pants and underwear. The evil man wouldn't take off his clothes for what he was about to do and Sherlock observed this acutely. His stomach churned and he had to swallow back the vomit rising in his throat. His heart ached to see the sobbing John in front of him, facing him, entirely naked and exposed before the mad-man behind him. 

"Jim, no! Please!" John screamed in the most painful of ways as Jim forced himself into the hot, tight circle of muscle that was John Watson. John bit his lip open in another placed and sobbed uncontrollably. Sherlock began to breathe heavily. He couldn't call out to him or soothe him or touch him to make it better and the emotion that pricked at his consciousness began to catch in his throat as Jim ruthlessly thrust into his best friend and flatmate. His vocal chords would not move. He had to let this happen, or else John would die. A tear streaked down his face an all of a sudden, it was too much as Jim thrust in once more, emptied his seed, and pulled out, leaving blood and come in his wake. 

"John, I'm here."

"Ah, ah, ah, Sherly!" John was crawling back to his friend and Jim had pulled out a gun. Sherlock struggled violently against his bonds and he reached for John to hold him and block the shot that was inevitably coming. "I warned you. You get not second chances from me. Though I did enjoy the fuck, I have to live up to my promises." Just as John and Sherlock's hands touched, Jim grabbed John by the foot and pulled him back. John's naked form was dragged across the floor and Jim grabbed John by the draw and dragged him up to his level. John struggled and clawed at Jim with all of his power, but he was no match. Bloody and exhausted, John was thrown against the wall and Sherlock heard a sickening crack. He squirmed and Jim pointed the gun at John, who was pleading to Sherlock with his eyes. 

"I have no time for last words, John."

"Sherlock, I...I lo--"

_Bang._

||| 

Sherlock woke with a start. He was sweating and tangled in the covers. 

"John? John!" Sherlock ripped himself from his bed and tore through 221B in search of John Watson. "John, where are--" John looked up from his morning tea and set the morning paper on his lap. 

"Sherlock, what's wrong with you? You look like you've just seen--"

"A dream. Of course," he muttered to himself. "Why would it be anything else. Good morning," he said, smiling one of those rare smiles of his. John looked at him skeptically. 

"Is there anything wrong, Sherlock? You know I'm here to talk about it."

Sherlock froze. _'I'm here.'_ "John, what is the worst dream you've ever had? No. Don't tell me. Just imagine it ten times worse."

"Did you dream about me? Did I die?"

Sherlock was silent as John stood and crowded into Sherlock's space. "I--how could you--"

"I do pay attention, Sherlock," said John. "Now, tell me what happened."

Oh, God. Not now, not at this moment could Sherlock feel that urge that occurred as they looked at each other after a near-death experience. It was all a dream. There was nothing drastically wrong with the world at that moment, and John Watson was holding Sherlock Holmes's face in his hands and brushing an errant tear away from his pale, cold cheeks. 

Suddenly, John's lips were where the tear was on Sherlock's face, and slowly they worked themselves down to Sherlock's mouth. Sherlock greeted him eagerly with a hitch in his breath. 

All too soon, John pulled away and muttered his apology. "I'm so sorry, Sherlock, I know you don't--"

"No," said Sherlock slowly. "That was actually exactly what I needed." Sherlock grabbed John by the elbow and drew him close once more. He ran his hands down his arms and caressed his face with his hands. "I'm glad you're here with me, John. Let's have some breakfast."


End file.
